


Stolen Moments

by hbomba



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Fridget, Lesbian Character, Missing Scene, Missing Scenes, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 20:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbomba/pseuds/hbomba
Summary: Lost scenes between 3x9 “Freak Show” and 3x12 “Blood and Fire”





	Stolen Moments

* * *

“Happiness changes as you change. It's in yourself.”―Mary Stewart

* * *

“I’m never gonna get out of here,” Franky had said to her as Bridget was led through the prison carting her belongings out of Wentworth in a box. Not exactly the beacon of concern for anyone but herself, but prison had a way of doing that to a person and Bridget recognized that Franky was no different.

Vera shouted at them to stop, warned Franky to get away from the fence, and though Bridget was patient in the most dire straits, the situation had her exasperated. Franky’s cheeks puffed out, her eyes glassy, forehead furrowed--it couldn’t be the last time Bridget would see her. She wouldn’t let it be.

Ferguson hadn’t really cared about the truth, after all Vera had merely provided her with the means to dispose of a very real problem--Bridget was the decoder ring to the Governor’s mental health and she’d been exposed. She’d seen through Ferguson’s forced-concern and formality, right down to the emptiness that pervaded her gaze.

She practically begged Vera to look deeper at Ferguson but remained unsure if she hit the right nerve with her as she departed. Sitting in the parking lot, the box of her belongings on the seat beside her, Bridget felt weighed down by the burden of the situation. She couldn’t leave Franky to rot, but she had little influence on the outside. Hell, she had little influence when she was inside with the board on her side.

Key in the ignition, she turned the engine over and took a deep breath. What was that saying? _When God closes a door, open up a window._ She pushed a button on the door and let the fresh air in as she drove through Wentworth’s gates. Her mind raced with scenarios--not about getting a new job, but how she would help Franky to be free.

She was being ridiculous, really. Franky was a client--a special client, but a client nonetheless--but she couldn’t sacrifice her livelihood for the younger woman. She had so much promise, her potential was virtually untapped and she knew given the right set of circumstances, Franky could brighten her world, too. But she couldn’t let herself go there, could she?

Bridget never let a client touch her the way Franky had in the library, and there were no regrets. She let Franky push her boundaries and trample a line she’d never imagined she’d feel comfortable crossing and yet it felt right. So right that Bridget lay in bed that night and remembered her lithe fingers scorching her cheek, her thumb delicately grazing her lips. She was so hard to resist, but Bridget had managed it. And she was thanking the stars that she hadn’t succumbed to the wiles of her favorite prisoner, past or present, when Vera appeared.

It wasn’t fair. Life had kicked Bridget Westfall in the ass once more and she would find a way to carry on--she always did. But this time she wasn’t all that bothered by her situation. She had savings, investments, she could get another job easily or expand the hours of her private practice. But Franky… Franky was looking at another year or more if Ferguson had anything to say about it and she’d been cut out of the loop. Who was she kidding? She was never in the loop. She was on the hook; a patsy for the board and for Ferguson. 

She knew she was in deep when she found out the Governor’s nickname was “The Fixer” but she just figured she was old school in her approach. Never in her life did Bridget actually think the woman that would fire her would be a bigger psychopath than any inmate she’d ever treated. By her estimation, she’d gotten off easy--Ferguson had only fired Bridget, somehow resisting the personal attacks she was prone to acting upon. And if Jodie Spiteri was any indication, she was grateful for that.

The next morning she was reading the paper. It was ten a.m. on a Wednesday and she was still in her pajamas. She had a few appointments with clients later in the day but the morning was hers. It was difficult to feel celebratory about that fact, but she was trying to remain optimistic about Franky’s predicament. 

She’d put on her brave face for Franky, making sure to spare her the guilt of something that was completely out of both their hands. Bridget was always putting herself last and she’d resigned to save Franky another year in Wentworth but somehow she knew someone as cunning as Joan Ferguson would have a back-up plan to continue to exact her revenge. 

To say that Bridget had her hands tied by the securities of prison life would be an understatement--she was hog-tied by them. They couldn’t call each other, and Bridget couldn’t visit without the air of impropriety eroding all the work they’d done together, she was effectively shut out.

She was rattled from thought by the ringing of her phone. “Hello?”

“Bridget, it’s Vera. Do y-you have time to meet me for coffee?”

The line fell silent as Bridget thought long and hard about her response. She resisted being catty, instead choosing to answer with a bemused huff. “I’m not sure we have much to say to one another, Vera.”

“I know I have no right to ask for your counsel, but I really need to speak with you.”

Bridget sighed quietly. “Right. Okay.” 

The Deputy gave her an address and Bridget agreed to meet Vera at the shop on her lunch hour. Bridget took her time getting ready, with all her training she wasn’t one to play games but the thought of making Vera uncomfortable with her tardiness was the smallest (and pettiest) revenge she could muster. She saw Vera at the table in the small coffee shop and approached casually. No amount of shoulder pads could hide Vera’s meek posture as she awaited her fate. She could tell Vera was conflicted.

Bridget didn’t rush to accept the apology Vera blurted at her and let her continue. If she were a different person, Bridget would have been content to watch Vera suffer with the consequences of her actions but the fact remained that Franky and the rest of the women were still at Ferguson’s mercy. And Bridget was the type of person that couldn’t live with herself if she turned a blind eye to that kind of abuse.

_“If I find proof and I go to the Board with it, will you support me?”_

_“Absolutely. But after Franky Doyle’s parole is granted.”_

There. She’d said it. Her line in the sand. And maybe she’d shared too much, put too much out there when nothing really existed between Franky and herself presently, but something told Bridget this wasn’t simply a hard-luck case that had worked herself into Bridget’s soft spot. She’d been flattered by Franky’s attention, she couldn’t deny that, but it was Franky’s tack-sharp mind that was just as sexy as her curves.

When Vera told her about the hearing being pushed forward Bridget recognized that Ferguson was on the offensive.

_“Is she ready?”_ The stark expression on Vera’s face said it all. “Shit.” Bridget sighed and sat back in her chair.

An uncomfortable silence hung over their table, other patrons, their conversations and movement seeming to whirl around them as each considered the other.

“Can I get you a coffee?” Vera asked.

Bridget hesitated. “I should really get going.”

Vera furrowed her brow. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

She was right about that. “Flat white would be great.” 

Vera nodded and shuffled off to the counter to order, returning a few minutes later with her coffee. Again, she sat across from the psychologist who waited for her to drop the question Bridget knew was eating her up inside. 

Thanking her quietly, Bridget took the proffered mug from Vera. She thumped a packet of sugar against her finger before ripping it open and pouring it in, spoon scraping its side as she stirred. Sipping the frothy beverage thoughtfully, Bridget swept the foam away from her top lip with her tongue. “What’s on your mind?”

“Why does her parole mean so much to you?” Vera asked seriously.

Bridget’s finger played along the rim of the saucer beneath her cup. “Franky Doyle is a force to be reckoned with, you know that as well as anyone. She’s not your average offender.”

“She is a violent offender, who I think has only gotten more violent since her incarceration. I don’t see the difference.” Vera’s deadpan was spot-on and Bridget resented her assessment.

“People change, Vera.” Her voice was thick with disdain.

Vera sighed. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Bridget chuckled. “I thought we established that I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Right.”

Bridget exhaled. “You still don’t believe me.”

She considered Bridget for a moment. “If you say there’s nothing going on--”

“Nothing has happened between us,” she said emphatically. 

It was a half-truth. They hadn’t gone past the point of no return physically, but there were certainly very few innocent thoughts left where Franky Doyle was concerned. 

Vera nodded. “Okay.” She checked her watch. “I should get back,” she said quietly before standing and pushing in her chair. “I’ll be in touch.”

Bridget sipped her coffee thoughtfully. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when Vera called but now that it was clear Ferguson was gunning for Franky, Bridget felt anxious. The day after firing Bridget, she was already driving home her revenge.

The next day Bridget was having a bit of revenge herself when she arrived at Franky’s parole hearing. The irritation on Joan Ferguson’s face was almost reward enough being there but Bridget was looking forward to giving Franky a glowing recommendation. She found herself expectant for Franky’s arrival, and when she walked in the room, tossing a soft smile her way, Bridget felt in her gut that something was off. 

She tried not to stare, but when Franky began to stammer and grimace, Bridget worried that Ferguson had already won. Something was very wrong. When she didn’t object to Franky’s parole, Bridget tried to quell her internal panic. She was so willing to let Franky out of her snare that Bridget was sure another pitfall or two awaited her. Ferguson had abandoned the front door and was coming around the back like the Boogeyman. 

And then Franky doubled over. 

Bridget couldn’t hide the concern on her face just as Joan Ferguson couldn't hide the amusement written all over hers as Franky asked to be excused. She wanted to go to the other woman and help her but with the board right there she could only manage a stroke on Franky’s back as she passed by to leave. 

Ferguson’s sanctimonious attitude once Franky had gone was palpable and the Board ate it up. She worried what that meant for Franky. Ferguson was a master manipulator and it was unnerving for Bridget to be so close to someone with so much potential and freewill to destroy so many lives. 

As she left the prison that afternoon, Bridget was feeling guardedly optimistic for what came next. There was no indication of which way the Board was leaning, but Franky had done well. It was unfortunate that she had so much difficulty with her statement, but she was obviously ill. Maybe it was the flu. Or food poisoning. Whatever it was, she hoped to God that Ferguson didn’t have anything to do with Franky’s state at the hearing. More than that, she hoped like hell that Vera was going to win the war of wills with Ferguson. Unlikely, but she had to hang onto something.

Days passed and Bridget opted for a self-care vacation before taking on more private clients. She cleaned up her yard, did some spring cleaning of her closets, and cooking--anything to keep her mind off what she really wanted to think about. 

Franky. 

She was starting to lose herself down the rabbit hole of her heart. She was taking a real leap of faith allowing her thoughts to wander to a place where she could be with Franky. A place without guards, bars, or twenty-four-seven video surveillance. 

The phone rang jostling Bridget from her thoughts again. “Hello?”

“She got it.” It was Vera and Bridget needed no further explanation as to what she was referring. 

“When?” Bridget asked expectantly.

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

“Sure.” 

“How’s that business with Ferguson going?” Bridget asked trying to ascertain Franky’s status without asking.

“It’s tricky, but it’s coming together.” Her answer was short enough and Bridget was astute enough to know that it was all she was going to get out of her. And it was more than she probably should’ve given up.

“Thanks for the heads up. If you need my help--”

“I’m going to the Board tomorrow morning.” 

“Good luck.”

“Ta.” The line clicked.

* * *

Sitting in her parked car in the hospital parking lot at two a.m., Bridget was really starting to wonder about her life choices. She’d seen it on the eleven o’clock news--the fire at Wentworth was on every channel so it was hard to miss it--and she tried to remain calm. Under normal circumstances, Bridget would be concerned for her co-workers and the inmates but tonight, the first person she thought about was Franky Doyle.

She felt selfish and unprofessional despite being sacked. Franky had been identified as one of the inmates taken to hospital and it took every fiber of Bridget’s being not to rush out to check in on her. Not until one a.m., that is.

She’d been sitting in her car for twenty minutes trying to figure out how she was going to get in to see Franky. Finally, she worked up the nerve to dial Vera’s number. The phone rang through. 

Once. 

Twice.

“Hello?” Vera sounded exhausted.

“Hi Vera, it’s Bridget.”

“You saw the news.”

“Yes, I did. I was wondering if you needed any help tonight?” Silence crackled through the connection. “Crisis counselling, perhaps? For the officers and injured inmates,” she added quickly.

“I’m not authorized to make that determination at this time.” Vera was still all business.

Bridget swallowed. “I see.” She slouched in the seat of her car. “Listen, Vera, when and if you are authorized I hope you will call me.”

“Absolutely.”

“G’night Vera.” She disconnected the line and stared at the phone. 

Shaking her head at herself, she opened the car door and headed for the hospital. She had no idea what she was about to do but she was steadfast in her desire to see Franky. Passing through the hospital automatic doors, Bridget Westfall headed for the elevators. She’d go floor by floor if she had to, but she’d find her. When the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, a Wentworth guard perked up at her arrival. She approached Myles with a casual smile, one hand in her pocket.   
  
“Ms. Westfall,” Linda Myles said confusedly.

“Hi, I just wanted to see how you all were going. Lot of excitement tonight, yeah?”

“You could say that. Should you be here? Weren’t you sacked?”

Bridget sighed. “Yes, but I thought you might let me check on the women. Surely we can come up with an equitable arrangement?”

Myles considered her and nodded.

“Where’s your partner?”

“Cigarette break.”

“Will I have a problem with them?”

“Nuh. Murphy’s been on the night shift since you got the sack.”

Bridget opened her wallet and emptied it. “Something extra for you keeping this to yourself.”

Looking around and finding it clear, Myles snagged the stack of bills from Bridget’s hand. “Go on.” She motioned with her head.

“Ta.” Bridget moved into the room quietly with some trepidation. The beeping of a heart monitor was steady and slow. Further into the room, past the curtains, she found her. The larger than life Franky Doyle looked so small and fragile curled up in the hospital bed with oxygen and wires leading to machines that hissed and blinked.

Bridget felt like she’d just swallowed her heart and it was lodged in her throat--a good indication that she was in too deep, that and the heartbeat that pounded in her head, double-time to the machine that beeped Franky’s. 

She stepped closer to the bed, she could reach out and touch her, but she didn’t. Her eyes traveled to the handcuffs on her outstretched wrist. “Oh, Franky.”

She said it quietly but it was enough to rouse the sleeping prisoner. She inhaled sharply. “Gidget?”

Standing at the foot of Franky’s hospital bed, Bridget folded her arms to keep from getting too close. She wasn’t afraid of Franky, she was afraid of herself. “I heard you were on a field trip.” She smiled warmly.

A soft chuckle escaped Franky’s lips. “You know me, keeping things interesting.”

“What the hell happened?” More confident now, Bridget moved around the side of the bed.

“The Freak tried to burn it down.”

“What happened to _you_?”

“When they were evacuating, Bea and me went looking for the baby.”

“That sounds dangerous.” Bridget admonished.

Franky scrunched her chin and shook her head. “I had to.”

“Have you ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?” Bridget asked, sitting beside the bed, finally.

Sitting up, Franky shrugged. “Nuh.”

“Remember when you told me about leaving Wentworth in a coffin? What would you say if I told you I think you went looking for a way to make that come true?”

“I couldn’t let the baby die in there.”

Bridget nodded. “No, you couldn’t.” She knew that Franky wasn’t playing at being a heroine, she meant what she said. “I’m glad everyone is safe.”

“How are you here right now?” Franky asked.

Bridget smiled. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“How much did ya have to give Myles to let you in?”

Bridget smiled and looked away. “It’s not important.” The beeping of the heart monitor was like a metronome to their conversation. She took a moment to soak up the fact that her heartbeat was beating in her ears in perfect time to Franky’s. “You’re getting out in a few days…”

“Thanks to you.”

“You presented your case well.”

Franky laughed derisively. “Doubling over with cramps in the middle of it probably didn’t help much.”

“I thought you were trying for the sympathy vote.”

This time they laughed together. Bridget checked the clock. It was past three a.m. and while she didn’t have a job to go to, she was confident she get some sleep now that she’d seen Franky alive and well enough. “I should go.”

“Maybe I’ll see you on the outside,” Franky grinned, dimples cutting into her cheeks.

“Maybe.” Bridget smiled and stood to leave. “Feel better.”

“Gidget?”

“Hmm?” Bridget paused at the foot of her bed again.

“Thanks for the visit.” Dimples creased her sooty cheeks again.

“G’night.” Nodding, Bridget stole one last glance before passing the curtain on her way out of the room.

Bridget couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face as she left the hospital that night. She was inspired. And when she laid down at 4 a.m. she still couldn’t sleep, but this time it was exhilaration that kept her up. Seeing Franky smile, knowing she was okay, and probably having her best night’s sleep since being incarcerated was a sad, but small silver lining of Franky’s predicament. 

Flipping over onto her back, Bridget sighed. Tomorrow she would rent a hot car and pick a hot girl up at Wentworth and drive off into the sunset with her. Bridget never knew what happily ever after might look like for herself, but more and more it was looking like Franky’s version was too good to pass up.


End file.
